


Glitter

by Lilly_White



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, ShinRa's space program is a joke and shera's had enough of it, Stripper AU, Stripping AU, cid curses all over the place, rocket 26 gets into space thanks to stripper money
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-09 00:46:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10399941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilly_White/pseuds/Lilly_White
Summary: 'Honest to Gaia, stripping is hard,' said Shera. 'If it were my regular job I’d probably drop out and stick with astrophysics.’My part of an art trade with Diamondwerewolf on tumblr!





	

*

They had to face the facts. There was almost no budget left.

They were so close to the goal, too. More than one of the engineers had had to fish money out of their own personal savings when expensive equipment had to be replaced; when ShinRa’s ridiculously inadequate allowance failed to cover the costs of a project that could not allow an error margin. Talking to the ShinRa board meant getting on their infuriatingly simian level and trying to explain in the simplest terms that you _could not_ invest in space exploration half-heartedly. It was an all-or-nothing deal. Not a goddamn pet project that ShinRa threw money at when they wanted to make themselves feel worldly and powerful. But they persisted. Money continued to trickle like drops of water on the dried-out lips of a corpse. The last board meeting had ended in the usual polyphonic sweep of Cid’s curses and Scarlet’s brain-rattling laughter. Thank Gaia for Rocket Town’s booze.

Cid drank a lot. And smoked a lot. Sometimes weeks went by where nobody saw him putting anything else than tea, alcohol and smoke into his body. Being one of the rare women in the engineers' raggedy team, Shera had taken on the motherly role of making sure nobody went mad with the endless hours and the pressure of meeting deadlines with such terrible conditions. Their team lived together in a rented house, so she was the one who put acceptably healthy meals on the table and unhooked people’s fingers from their blueprints and Allen keys after everyone had gone to sleep. But as the deadline approached, even she didn’t have enough mojo left to cut bits off of and distribute.

One major reason was this: in the past months Cid had somehow obtained the role of coordinator of the whole team, and when he was pissed, exactly nobody contributed. It was the opposite. The more the team needed support, the more Cid gave the exact contrary. Hissy fits, curses thrown at everything from President Shinra’s budgeting policies to the way his morning tea frothed because _tea shouldn’t froth, Shera_ and nobody had the balls to tell him to drop the attitude.

Shera had had enough. One night, after another attempt at throwing off the empty accusations that Cid made at her and failing because she’d always valued his opinions too damn much, she finally managed to persuade herself that she was _too old_ for this. Too old to be playing doe-eyed assistant who takes everything into her stride. Too damn old to squash her anger and play mother to everyone. If the engineering boys could throw in all their odd-job income to keep the beast huffing and panting its way out of the pit of project cancellation, then so should she.

She opened drawers that had not been opened in a shamefully long while, cobbled together the kind of outfit that she supposed would be appropriate, and took a cab to Rocket Town’s only strip club.

 *

Cid’s phone was buzzing. He didn’t like it when people interrupted his quiet evenings. If one more person shouted _Ciiid_ at him down the line he would start knocking heads together.

Teeth grinding against his cigarette, he flipped open the phone. ‘This better be good.’

‘Cid?’

Shera never called him unless it was urgent. Shera knew better. Cid’s scowl deepened.

‘What time is it, Shera?’

‘It’s 2am. I know. But – ’

‘It’s clocked-out, don’t-call-your-team-leader time. Do you know what I’m doing right now, Shera?’

‘I don’t know, Cid – ’

‘I’ve got a glass of sweet honey-coloured bourbon sittin’ on this counter right here and I was thinkin’ to myself just how nice it was not to have a single one of you incompetent jackasses yappin’ at my heel. Are you calling because you specifically want to aggravate me, Shera? Because if that’s the case – ’

‘For Gaia’s sake – _shut up_.’

Cid’s eyes went very wide. Shera never told him to shut up. Shera knew better.

‘Come again?’

‘I’m in trouble. I need you to pick me up.’         

He would’ve protested but he could still feel that zinger bouncing between his ears. Shera had never once in all her years as his assistant allowed herself to be so rude to him. He hadn’t thought she had it in her. In fact, he was too surprised to be angry.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Can you pick me up at that all-night diner on Admiral Street? The one we went to last week with the boys. Right now, as quick as you can?’

‘Uh. Sure.’

He scratched his head all the way to the bashed-up Scoda outside, the one belonging to one of the astro guys. The company vehicle that ShinRa had lent them was hidden away in a garage ever since the last budget cut, when the team had decided to stuff the whole car with bouquets of fireworks and set it off to ‘celebrate’. Shera had even added in some catherine wheels. It always gave Cid a little twinge of pride to drive around in this heap of a car. Though it also gave him a mild feeling of despair that it was these hooligans who were meant to be shooting him into space. At least they were passionate. He had to give them that.

He parked outside the diner, made his way to the double doors. There was a bunch of guys hanging outside and smoking. They stared him up and down, chins held high like ugly mutts protecting their territory. Cid just scowled back and pushed the doors in, setting off a jingle of bells.

Shera was at the counter, sipping from a bottle of strawberry cider. She had a sports bag by her feet. When she saw Cid approaching her cheeks went bright red, and she swept the sports bag up against her chest.

‘So sorry to call you so late,’ she said, trying to keep her composure. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘Glad to see you got yer manners back,’ Cid quipped. ‘What the hell’s goin’ on? Why are you out so late?’

Shera shrugged. ‘I just wanted a drink. And then some guys started following me, so I got scared. Sorry.’

The men outside were looking at them through the glass walls of the diner. Cid’s fingers curled into fists as he imagined her scenario.

‘Are those the ones?’

‘Yeah,’ Shera mumbled. ‘Come on, let’s go. I don’t want to waste more of your time.’

He wrestled the sports bag from her in some slightly bashful attempt at being gentlemanly. It was surprisingly heavy.

‘I didn’t know women take bricks with them on dates,’ he said as they got to the doors. Shera looked flustered. ‘Then again I don’t blame ya, with these creeps hangin’ around town.’

He kept an eye on the guys as he pushed open one door. They were all staring at Shera now, some of them nodding and smiling at her. Shera kept her head resolutely down as she followed close behind Cid.

‘Got yourself a mighty fine woman there, huh?’ one of them called at Cid. Cid just raised an eyebrow at the offender.

‘Why don’t you mind yer own damn business.’

‘Hey, you never did give me your number,’ another called to Shera.

‘Yeah, empty promises aren’t cool, man.’

‘Can’t let a pretty peach like that jus’ walk away, yo.’

Speaking as though Cid were not effectively acting as a human barrier between Shera and these morons was not the most intelligent course of action. In minutes, Cid was breathing down on one of the bigger kid’s faces, pecs pushed out, fingers flexing.

‘You wanna tell me what your problem is?’

‘Cid, let’s go,’ Shera called, but the drunk kid only smiled in the face of this wall of muscle.

‘Hey, we don’t want no trouble, man. Your lady’s just, you know, a liberated woman,’ he said. ‘We were jus’ hoping you’d let us in on the fun, y’know?’

‘Come on, sugar, give us some peaches,’ crooned another one, clearly drunk as he staggered and made obscene gestures at Shera.

Cid’s fists sailed and there was a crack of knuckles against someone's temple. Bodies wrapped in leather and beer-sodden T-shirts collided as his sorry mates jumped into the scrum. One of the security guards outside of the diner broke it up, shouting over the insults and obscene jeering, and Cid stumbled out of the straggle of boys looking murderous.

Shera’s hands were trembling when they finally slammed the doors of the Scoda around themselves. Cid had a bleeding lip and was grinding his teeth as he started up the car. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes as he drove down to a roundabout and made a u-turn. The soft jazz on the radio brought down both of their heart rates to something more tolerable as the streetlights streaked past.

‘Could’ve put the sports bag to good use,’ Shera offered at one point.

Cid glanced at her, and scoffed.

‘Shera, I know this ain’t your fault but neither of us need this kind of shit right now. There’s work in the morning and I don’t need to be reminded of the shittiness of the world when we’re already stuck deep in it. I won’t come pick you up again if you pull this on me a second time.’

Shera picked at her nails. ‘We all have our ways of coping.’

‘So, what, your way of coping is to throw yer pride into a sports bag and go pick up some random _bozos_ \- ?’

‘Listen,’ Shera snapped. She was tired, there was glitter all over her face and her knees had never ached this much – she just couldn’t have him continue to believe that she was stupid enough to skip out here in the middle of the night all bimboed up, trying to pick up a hot date in _Rocket Town._ ‘I wasn’t out on a date, alright? I was working.’

‘Working?’ Cid scoffed again. ‘Last I checked, you were workin’ fer _me_.’

‘I started a second job, alright?’ Shera said, her tone rising to match his. ‘We need the money and don’t pretend you don’t know that.’

They got to the house, parked outside. Shera bundled her sports bag against her chest, looking at the dashboard as a silence stretched between them. It wouldn’t be lucrative to pay a cab to and from the club. She had to tell him if this was going to work out at all.

‘Shera? You wanna tell me what’s goin’ through that head of yours, or can we leave the car?’

Sighing, Shera rummaged in her bag for the stack of cash she’d made that night.

‘Look, I need to make an arrangement with you,’ she mumbled.

She took out the cash, held it between them. Cid’s eyebrows shot up as he stared at the crumpled greens held together by one of Shera’s big pink scrunchies.

‘Tips,’ Shera said vaguely. ‘If you could, I would really appreciate it if you’d pick me up at that diner around this time. Every night, Thursday through to Sunday. Would that be OK? And you can take what you want out of this.’

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of tip-based job resulted in _that_ amount of earnings. But Shera wasn’t saying anything more, and it boggled Cid’s brains so much to even imagine Shera in anything else than her mustard-coloured jumpers and ill-fitting jeans that he didn’t ask. It couldn’t be what he was thinking. It _couldn’t_.

Shera put the entire wad of cash into his hands to further press the incentive. ‘This goes directly towards the project,’ she said firmly. ‘The boys give their extra income to you for budgeting, so I’ll be doing the same every night.’

‘Shera…’

They both sat staring at the dashboard for a moment, Cid holding the cash between two fingers as if it were a smelly sock. Then he apparently made up his mind, perhaps more about the fact that there’d be gossip if they stayed out here any longer, and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

‘Thursday through to Sunday?’ he muttered.

‘Yes. You’ll do it?’

‘As long as it isn’t any later than this. But, Shera.’ He tried to look her in the eye. He had to say _something_. ‘I know this project means as much to you as it does to me. But it ain’t worth you puttin’ yerself into dangerous situations.’

‘Thank you, boss. I’ll be fine.’

*

At first, the boys ignored that their boss seemed to disappear during weekend evenings. The money that Shera was injecting into the budget was far more than the engineers brought to the table, and the new financial leeway put everyone in a far better mood. But it inevitably became suspicious that something was going on between the boss and his assistant. They noticed how he didn’t shout at her as much, and how they always seemed to conveniently disappear together. Naturally, as they all lived in such close quarters, the gossip and teasing began.

Cid would wave it away with a grumble. But even he couldn’t deny that something had changed in his and Shera’s relationship, regardless of the allegations. There was the fact that her new job had him wondering just what she carried in that sports bag, and what was under that mustard jumper of hers that other men spilled hundred-Gil notes onto. He would catch himself looking at her as she climbed the stairs leading to different sections of Rocket 26, leaned around steel cylindres, reached her way into overhead circuitry. He’d imagine her twisting and turning like that in completely other scenarios, and he’d find himself having to put distance between them to be able to concentrate.

 

One night, she left her bag in the front seat while she charged back into the house for something she’d forgotten. Cid looked down at the half-open zip. Would it be a breach of trust to look? She would’ve zipped it shut if she really didn’t want him looking in. Innocently, he poked a finger in the hole and pulled the bag open a little more. His cigarette hung from his lip for a few seconds as he stared wide-eyed at the accoutrement. There were massive pink heels in there, long as daggers and studded with rhinestones. White lace frothed up at him next the pair, run through with straps and little golden buckles. There was a purse, a travel mug that he’d seen her filling with hot chocolate earlier. The ShinRa space program logo was stamped over it. Shoved in with the rest of the work gear, it gave Cid a sudden flashback of Shera marching around Rocket 26 that morning holding the travel mug, shouting to one of the engineers about a problem with the air pressure – except now she was wearing those goddamn heels. There was certainly a pressure problem, except it was in Cid’s –

‘Got it!’

Cid jumped to attention as Shera came hurtling down the front garden towards him. He managed to smile at her as she opened the window and dropped into the seat, shoving a little pouch into the sports bag. She looked up at Cid when she noticed how wide the zip was – so he cleared his throat and immediately started the engine, grumbling something about not wanting her to be late.

Unlike Cid, Shera had never lied to herself about her feelings. He’d always been the unattainable mentor to her – so she’d treated her crush like any student treats their feelings towards a teacher. As something inappropriate. There were a few hook-ups among the engineers which made her feel like she was handling the situation a little more seriously than she should be. But, it had always made working with him much easier if she just told herself he was out of reach.

Now that they had this secret between them, however, everything was lurching out of control. She’d noticed how he looked at her ever since she started working at the club. And now she'd definitely noticed that the zip on her bag was wide open.

Usually they spent the journey chit-chatting about the day’s work, Cid always graciously avoiding any questions about the strip club. This time, there was a heavy silence. Shera could practically see Cid’s mental projections on the windscreen.

‘They’re surprisingly comfortable,’ she attempted.

Cid’s foot left the accelerator pedal for a moment. ‘You what now?’

‘The shoes,’ Shera said. ‘They’re made for long shifts. I haven’t even fallen over once in them.’

There was another silence. Then Cid stopped at a traffic light, apparently chewing on a thought.

‘Where in Gaia’s name did you get something like that, anyway?’ he grumbled. His voice was huskier than usual.

‘They belonged to one of the girls,’ Shera said. ‘Kitty. She’s a math student in her first year of uni. She exchanged them for essay help.’

Cid laughed and shook his head.

‘What?’

‘Just – _you,’_ he said. ‘You work at strip club for five minutes and suddenly it turns into a Sunday science school.’

Shera smiled. ‘No harm done, I suppose.’

He scratched his stubble for a minute. The light turned green, and he led them into the main street. Shera struggled to arrange the words in her head, now that he’d offered the opportunity to actually talk about this.

‘Cid – I wanted to thank you,’ she managed.

‘’s not a problem, I told you,’ Cid said gruffly.

‘No, it’s…’ Shera looked down at her lap. ‘Thanks for not judging me too harshly.’

‘Hey, if it weren’t for you we’d all be on the goddamned street, looking up at a rusty old rocket and wondering about the could-have-beens,’ Cid said. ‘I don’t give a damn what you’re doin’ in there. You’re busting your ass more than any of the boys to keep this project alive.’

They came up to the diner. After parking, he looked down at his fingers, hooked over the steering wheel as they were. He didn’t seem finished, so Shera waited.

‘Should be me thanking you,’ he grumbled. ‘I just hope that the place doesn’t treat you too bad, y’know?’

‘Oh, it’s absolutely lovely,’ Shera quipped. Cid glanced at her in surprise. ‘Yes, aside from some of the clientele it’s really very nice. You could always come in – ’ Her eyes darted away as it slipped out, her cheeks steaming up her glasses. _‘_ – ah, if you wanted to see how it is, I mean.’

The silence was so heavy with implications that Shera could hardly breathe. 

‘Yeah, sure,’ Cid went along with her. ‘Just to, you know. Make sure.’

They both resolutely looked at everything but each other.

‘OK,’ Shera said. ‘I’m. I’m going in through the side-door, so you’ll have to pay the entrance fee.’

She led Cid over to the discreet blacked-out club entrance, greeting the statuesque bouncers and introducing them to ‘my friend here, Cid’. The bouncers called her Luna, for some reason. Cid realised with a pang that it must be her stage name. She was going to do a set. On stage. Like she had every other night. And he was going to be there.

Shera gave him a comically formal nod, and scampered off around the building, presumably to the staff entrance. Cid thought as he went in that she hadn’t even mentioned when she’d be appearing. Or whether she was comfortable with him seeing her in her working gear. Or whether ‘seeing how it is’ meant staying all night or just five minutes.

Goddamnit, was this some kind of test of his character?

He grinded his teeth as he made his way down a dark corridor. There were boys coming in behind him, laughing and whooping together and his shoulders bunched up in annoyance. Then – the corridor opened on the club proper, and his eyes flew open.

It was a wide open circular space, with pink lights tracing patterns on the velvety walls. There were couches surrounding a centre stage with a chrome pole extending up to a high ceiling. Behind the stage, stairs led up to a balcony which Cid presumed was the VIP area. Already there were men sitting around the low round tables, and strippers floating from couch to couch in little more than see-through gowns and glittery straps.

Cid’s eye twitched. He was too sobre for this.

He grabbed an overpriced drink at the bar and sat down near the stage. Sticking his nose into his whisky, he wondered if the other loners felt just as stupid as he did, sitting there drinking by himself. But the men weren’t looking at each other. They were busy with the entertainment. Cid brushed off the women who came to greet him, saying something about not being here to buy dances, and they left him alone with a few sulky stares. A few girls wiggled their way around the pole, introduced by a DJ that Cid couldn’t see. After his third straight bourbon, he relaxed and allowed himself to at least watch the show. It couldn’t hurt to keep an ear out and make sure that this place was as ‘nice’ as Shera had said, both on the surface and below.

He didn’t recognise her when she came his way. She’d been selling dances on the other side of the room, so it was a while before she came around to him to say hello. Cid did a double-take at the woman in the feathery white gown standing in front of him. She wore a long fake ponytail that reached her lower back, and the glasses were gone – she was wearing contacts and pale, glittering eyeshadow. Her glossy lips stretched into a smile as recognition dawned on his face.

‘Wow,’ he blurted. ‘Er – I mean. It’s a nice place.’

‘You’re sticking around, then?’ Shera said, speaking loudly over the music.

He made such a gargantuan effort to _not_ look down at the very visible lingerie straps that outlined her breasts, he was sure he popped a vessel in his eye.

‘Maybe for a few minutes, yeah,’ he mumbled, and he had to shout it again into her ear for her to hear.

‘OK!’ Shera replied. ‘Maybe you should tip at least the stage sets so the girls won’t think you’re just looking without paying.’

Cid frowned. ‘That wouldn’t exactly be the best use of the space program budget,’ he said in her ear, and she laughed. He looked at the silver loops in her ears, the glitter in her hair. She had to lean over him with how tall those shoes made her – and now he couldn’t _not_ look down into her cleavage.

It was a very nice one. A very nice cleavage. Yes.

Goddamnit, this was going to be difficult.

When Shera sidled away on someone’s arm, there was a dancer on the stage who provided a very easy distraction. She was better than all the others on the pole – she was wearing red, and had long flaming hair too, and she’d clack her heels together and whip her hair in ways that should’ve been illegal. Cid saw that the tippers were sitting around the stage, so he got up and moved to a couch directly in front of the railing. He sat down and tried to look without appearing too eager. It was very difficult, seeing how the redhead crawled across the stage and curled her fingers around the men’s cheeks, inviting them to enjoy the show with a wicked smile. This low vantage point along with the girl’s giant heels flattered her figure in a way that ignited the men all around the stage, and she knew exactly how to use it to her advantage. Cid diligently spilled a few one-Gil notes on the stage, and then retreated back into his seat when the dancer saw him and twirled in his direction. She artfully dropped onto her hands and knees and swept through the note-covered floor, stopping right in his face and giving him that hell-raising grin of hers.

Cid swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. He reached out a note and the stripper took it from him, sliding it into her bra.

She was all sass and fire and Cid was glad when the song was up; this kind of aggressiveness was too much, especially from a complete stranger. She sauntered off the stage to make way for the next dancer. The red lights turned a ghostly bluish-white, and Cid could see glitter floating in it.

‘... please welcome to the stage our next dancer… Luna!’ announced the DJ.

Cid swallowed harder.

The train of thought that was leading him towards the fact that he really should get his thumb out of his ass and get out of there _right now_ kind of crashed and sat there smoking when he saw Shera. She stepped up onto the stage, the white lights dripping over her like milk. They slid over her curves, casting deep shadows every time she moved. She strode up to the pole, dragging the toes of her rhinestone heels gracefully. Then her hand was on the pole and she was drifting around it, walking like she was underwater, each one of her movements slow and languorous.

It was all Cid could do to keep his jaw attached to his face. The song she’d chosen was familiar – it was ponderous, a male voice crooning something about a _lonely moonchild_ , and Shera’s eyes were closed as her legs swept around the pole. She would curl around the metal, make angular shapes whenever she launched into a spin, heels dragging jagged shadows along the floor. When she stopped, her back against the pole and her arms over her head, she was facing Cid. Oh, he was getting the full benefits from his vantage point. From here her legs seemed endless, and her hips… there was no looking away now. She rubbed her thighs together, knees buckling as she slid down the pole. Head thrown back, she dropped to her knees and arched her back until her head touched the floor, hair in a chestnut arc around her.

Cid’s mouth was completely dry. He watched the Gil notes fluttering in the ghostly lights as the other men rained money on her. The paper skittered around her body, some of them landing on her glittery stomach. When she dragged herself back up, she let the open gown slide down her arms until her feather shroud was on the floor.

Cid noticed moles on her bare shoulders, and how her throat and cleavage glittered in the lights. He’d never seen so much of her. Even just seeing her neck was odd, with how many turtlenecks her usual wardrobe included – so seeing all of that bare skin was almost overwhelming. Her soft belly, her ample hips, her thighs with their beautiful curves... he couldn't stop looking.

She started doing things with her bare legs, opening and closing them and lifting them up together so that she was tracing sensuous lines in the air above her. She would flash the crotch of her lingerie at the men every time she lifted her legs, white lace outlining the generous pulp beneath, and Cid looked because of course he did. Then she was on her knees again and she looked straight at him.

He couldn’t look away. Already it felt as though there was no one else around the stage, but with their eyes strung together, the whole world fell away. She gave him a shy smile, and he melted at the sight of those dimples in her cheeks. His hand was still around his glass of bourbon, and the ice cubes had had the time to melt as he held it in the air, stuck in its trajectory towards his mouth. Shera turned around and got back up slowly, doing this thing where she tilted her hips to the left as she straightened her legs and Cid muttered _goddamn_ under his breath as she gave him a beautiful view. Was she – _flirting_ with him? How the hell was he supposed to know how to deal with this – but then she’d climbed up on the pole and she was spinning, the white lights moulding every angle of her body as intimately as a lover’s hands, and his mind went blank.

She reclined, her legs clamped around the pole, back arching downwards. Her body was a diagonal line in the air, slowly rotating, her ponytail skimming the floor. She reached around her back, undid the clasp of her bra. Teasingly, she brushed one strap down her arm, and then the other. Then the bra was dangling from her outstretched hand, and her breasts were naked in the white lights. Cid took in the outline of her puffy, candy-pink nipples and clenched his jaw.

He thought he’d turn blue from how long he'd been holding his breath. She hooked her legs around the pole in different shapes, sweeping her hands over her breasts and guiding the path of his eyes. He took in the arch of her back, the ample buttocks, the crease of her thighs. The way her eyes would glimmer in the lights when she looked his way. The way her legs closed around the pole, making him imagine something else pressing so intimately between them.

After her dance was over, he staggered to his car and decided to wait inside until the end of her shift. He had difficulty walking with the massive tent in his pants, and he had to be away from that place if he was going to drive Shera home without her finding out about – _this_. It was unprofessional. And rude. But then how could he even qualify her own actions? She’d looked at him. She’d – _looked_ at him. Of course it was all part of the job, but – damnit it if he wasn’t weak to that particular part of it. She’d either learned very fast, or was an utter natural. Who knew that she'd been hiding so much talent under that dirty white coat of hers?

She came back into his car an hour afterwards, panting and wearing her glasses over that white make-up. Cid couldn’t look at her. He waited until she’d stuffed her bag down by her feet, and started the engine.

‘It was alright, wasn’t it?’ she breathed.

‘Yeah,’ Cid grunted.

She was smiling as he drove them around the roundabout.

‘Ruby said you looked terrified,’ Shera said.

‘Ruby?’

‘The one before me. Who you spent all our hard-earned space program budget on,’ Shera teased.

‘I only spent about twenty,’ he protested.

She was clearly trying to break the ice. Or rather put out the flames. Because it sure was hot as hell in that car. They drove in silence for a minute, before Shera sighed and tried to keep talking.

‘She’s the one who taught me.'

‘Wouldn’t have thought so,’ Cid said. ‘She was like a goddamned wildcat. No subtlety there whatsoever.’           

Shera took this to mean that he’d found her… subtle. Her cheeks burned.

‘Everyone has their own style, I guess.’ Then her smile turned to a smirk. ‘When she was showing me how to do a lapdance, she said it ‘wasn’t rocket science’ – but honest to Gaia, stripping is _hard_. If it were my regular job I’d probably drop out and stick with astrophysics.’

Cid snorted.

‘Didn’t look like you found it particularly hard,’ he said.

‘Really?’

Oops. Cid looked straight at the road. How to… phrase this. Without being a creep.

‘Yeah.  You looked nice.’

Nice. _Nice._ He wanted to hit himself. If he’d had a ring on him he would’ve scrambled up onto that stage and asked her to marry him.

He parked up in front of the house, and followed her to the front door. She seemed small now without her monster heels. After this relentless evening he’d become acutely aware of her perfume, and the tiniest of her movements. The way her clothes creased and stretched over her body. They stepped over the threshold and into the darkness of the entrance – it was approaching 3am, and everyone else was fast asleep.

Cid watched dumbly as Shera took her shoes off and dragged her hair tie down her ponytail, releasing a torrent of chestnut hair. She looked over at him when she felt his gaze on her. He knew it would be inappropriate to ask – she had been working, she didn’t mean anything by it. Surely. But what if…?

‘Shera,’ he asked.

‘Yeah?’

There was that look again, that liquid light in her eyes and before he knew what he was doing, his hands had reached and slid down her shoulders. He gripped her to stop himself from thrusting her against a wall, and then he did anyway, slotting her between it and his body.

 _Were you flirting with me?_ He tried to get it out, but it sounded puerile, surely there was no need to _ask_ something like that.

She stared up at him for a moment, and then that dimple appeared in her cheek. She was smiling.

_Yes._

His mouth met hers, and she melted into his embrace, opening her mouth to admit his tongue. It might’ve been wholly unprofessional – this, the whole damn evening, really – but Gaia, it had been worth it.

*

**Author's Note:**

> The song Shera dances to is a cover of King Crimson's Moonchild :D Probably remixed a bit further to fit a club mood.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPeJLPP6dm0


End file.
